


What the cabdriver overheard

by Gutter_Couch



Series: behind me, beneath me, beside me [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Cock Rings, Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Other, consensual voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27077731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gutter_Couch/pseuds/Gutter_Couch
Summary: Foggy has Matt report in to Karen.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: behind me, beneath me, beside me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977175
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	What the cabdriver overheard

There are only so many judges in this district, and all the judges know Matt and Foggy's style. 

But, lately, there is something a bit more restrained. In that: Mr. Murdock? He’s still sharp and quick. He can still close an argument with a passion that resonates in the whole room, right up the marble columns to the rafters. And he’s always been cocksure, bordering on vain. But now, Murdock isn't on edge. There is a different kind of confidence. It’s not that he looks to his law partner, Mr. Nelson, more often; he never looks at anybody. He's blind. 

But sitting on that bench for so long, you notice things. Behaviors, conscious and unconscious, play out openly to the discerning eye. Patterns reveal power dynamics through subtle cues. Look close enough and you’ll see that Nelson is the one in charge. He’s got Murdock on some kind of leash. 

And you thank god you’re on the bench and not the prosecution.

The pair shake hands all around after court adjourns, but they don’t linger. Nelson pulls his boy along, and Murdock goes, looking all the world like he’s got a secret and it’s too good to share.

They don’t do anything untoward in the taxi. (Foggy’s got Matt trained well enough to avoid that, after the first several misadventures.)

Foggy instructs Matt to call Karen and rests his hand on Matt’s knee. 

Well... Not his knee. That spot above the knee? A little higher than that, actually.

Because he is very good at controlling himself, Matt is wonderfully polite to Karen and is able to maintain a steady tone of voice. 

Partway through the call, when Matt has shifted from the news of the day into more empty banter, Foggy squeezes his hand. He’s letting Matt know: _Go on_. 

Matt swallows, shifts a bit in his seat, switches the phone to his other hand. The move slides his legs a little more open, a little more loose. Foggy allows it. He'd put a ring on Matt and stroked him to attention in the courthouse bathroom during the last recess. It's been several hours already.

Foggy leans in. “Tell her,” he says, “about breakfast.”

Matt stretches out a bit more in on the cab bench seat. His once nicely-pressed pants are starting to wrinkle. Matt hates wrinkled pants. Foggy will have to have Matt iron them. It’s always lovely when Matt does the chores in his little black apron, the one with the frills and the ties and the very open back.

“Foggy made breakfast,” Matt reports, completely interrupting Karen talking about some sports event.

“Oh?” Karen asks. She moves from her small kitchen to the couch, bringing her tea with her. She arranges a soft fleece blanket over her lap. 

“He made waffles. For me.”

“Tell me more, Matthew,” Karen prompts immediately. 

Her voice doesn’t work nearly as well as Foggy’s (yet), but Foggy did tell him to share the story. “Well...”

“They were strawberry waffles,” Foggy reminds him. He squeezes Matt’s leg again. 

“They were strawberry waffles,” Matt repeats faintly.

“Good,” says Foggy.

“Good,” says Karen.

Matt squirms more.

“I know you like strawberries, Matthew,” Karen says.

“Yes, Karen.”

“Did he feed them to you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you lick his fingers?”

“Yes.”

“How did you like that?”

“I wanted more.”

Foggy’s thumb is stroking Matt’s thigh, a steady pressure. 

Karen rearranges the blanket. She sets aside her tea.

“Can you tell me what you wanted?” She asks.

“I..." Matt swallows. "We are in a taxi,” he says, hanging his head.

Foggy pats Matt’s shoulder with his free hand but doesn’t stop striking Matt’s thigh. 

Karen tilts her head back onto the couch, slides her hand under the blanket. She’ll have to do some of the heavy lifting here. “That’s okay Matt, Just answer my questions okay?”

Matt nods.

Karen waits moment, then decides to pop open the button of her jeans.

“You said Foggy gave you the strawberries. “ 

“Delicious,” reports Matt. 

“Were you on your knees?” 

“Yes.” 

“Were you naked?” Karen can’t decide if she wishes the answer were “yes” or “no.” 

“No.” 

“The apron?” 

“No” 

“Your suit?” 

“Yes “ 

“Which one?” 

“He likes the black one” 

Karen inhales, setting the heel of her palm across the mound of her vulva. “That’s good, Matt. I like it when you tell me what Foggy likes “ 

“I know.” 

“And you’re very good at making Foggy happy.”

Matt smiles. He turns to Foggy.

Foggy shakes his head no and presses the phone back to Matt’s ear. “Keep going," Foggy urges. 

“But, Matthew, this is important,” Karen is saying, “Foggy likes it when you get what you want too. That’s when Foggy is most happy, you know that.”

“I...”

“And me too, Matt. You make me feel—“

Here, Karen lengthens her stroke, stretching her outer lips and beginning to arch her hips into her hand. Her panties are warm and wet. The friction is a good start. She gasps as a ridge of wrinkled, damp cloth catches between her palm and her swollen clit. “You make me feel very good, Matthew. So good.”

Matt inhales sharply. Karen imagines, bizarrely, that he must be able to smell her. 

“We’re getting close,” Foggy whispers. 

Matt imagines Foggy doesn’t realize how right he is. “Karen —“ Matt says. 

“—Tell me,” she interrupts, beginning to pant, “Tell me what you wish you’d been wearing.”

Matt squirms.

Foggy digs in his thumb, hard. Matt likes that, squirms a bit more. 

Foggy grabs Matt’s hip forcefully with the other hand, holding him in place. “Four blocks ‘til home,” he reports cheerfully. And then, without letting up the pressure on Matt’s leg, he begins asking the cab driver about a recent baseball game. The driver has Opinions.

“A necktie,” Matt reports. 

Before Karen can interrupt, he continues, “A tie, and suspenders. And rope.”

Karen shudders, pushes inside. “Silk?”

“Sure. Anything.”

God, she is so wet. If she imagined Matt could smell her before, the whole borough must know by now. “How tight?”

“Very,” Matt says. It’s almost a snarl, the first bite of emotion she’s drawn out of him other than dreamy recollection and timid acquiescence.

Foggy instantly clamps down both hands. He squeezes thrice, a signal to rein in, but not a signal to stop.

“Are your hands bound, or just your ankles?” Karen manages to ask. Her hips have fully lifted off the couch. The blanket is sliding down, past her knees. Her jeans are shoved down, digging into her pale, smooth thighs. 

Matt swallows, mindful of Foggy’s silent demands. “Both. Together. Behind my back. Tied to—“

Karen moans, pushing and pushing into herself.

“Tell me!” She pants.

“Taxi...” Matt whines.

Foggy breaks from engaging with the driver long enough to whisper, “Speak.”

Karen's moans are increasingly loud and Matt is excruciatingly careful not to hit the speaker phone button. “Matthew!”

He hears her: Every breath, every long, wet slide.

“I’m naked except for a silk tie Foggy holds in his fist. I’m on my knees at Foggy’s chair in the kitchen. He made me pancakes, with strawberries. He’s feeding them to me because my hands are tied behind my back with a silk rope. It winds tight around my ankles and—“

Karen is nearly shouting. “—and what?”

“Around my ankles and through the toy he gave me last night. He gave it to me and told me not to touch it and I’ve been good and I haven’t removed it all night and the strawberries... They taste so good, Karen.“

Karen drops the phone on her climax.

Foggy asks the taxista to pull over right there.

It’s only a block from the apartment. They can walk.

They can walk, but Foggy can tell from Matt’s squirming, it’s going to be more of a run.


End file.
